


Love and Pain

by Oscarthegrouch



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal Lecter in Love, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hurt, Immer kürzer :(, M/M, Mentions of the past, Nostalgia, One Shot, Passion, Time Skips, Will is here seducing the shit out of Hannibal just by breathing, character exploration, melancholia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 04:04:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16632563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oscarthegrouch/pseuds/Oscarthegrouch
Summary: Mano Mylimasis. Savo Priešas. Mano Pajègus. Savo Gyvybė. Savo Širdgėla. A chant. An affirmation. A vow.





	Love and Pain

**Author's Note:**

> I want to write so bad but I don't have time, it's so frustrating!  
> Inspired by this beautiful painting: https://www.edvardmunch.org/vampire.jsp

Hannibal closes his eyes. Thinks of heavy breasts pressing against his throat. The smell of something sweet and creamy womanly, drowning his senses. Eyes blinded by gentle tones of woolen fabric and skin doused in the warmth of a scratchy welcome.

Encased in love. Circled by acceptance.

The teenager shivers and tightens his arms around himself. Making himself cold. Making himself smaller against the tree trunk and letting his bum hit the wet soil. There is not a lot of strength left in him.

.

Wrenched in corrosive salt, thrown by the violent wind and waters on a small strudy boat stands Will Graham, considering him suspiciously in the office of the head of the FBI's Behavioral Unit.

Hannibal hasn't felt like this in years. Safe in another human being's presence. He is warmed at his presence and encensed at the pain it wakes.

When was the last time he had been vulnerable ?

He thinks of honor and duty. Rice and tradition. Looks up at angry Will Graham.

He wants to hurt him and please him.

It is a confusion he doesn't welcome.

.

His heart is dried and empty. Small and buried deep. Staked, locked and sealed in a dark tomb. What could possibly be powerful enough to revive it ?

There is no phoenix's fire in the consultant's hair. No ash on his shoulders or any sparks in his hands. No power.

.

The rips he tears in the flayed skin are personal. The excavating of the organs would have been frantic if he hadn't been honest with himself. He digs with rubber hands till he hits the spine. The hole he leaves is gaping and he leaves his mine without any precious minerals.

.

The smell of blood is strange. He remembers his first birth as well as he remembers his second. Both left him doused in it.

His first memory.The one of his screeching infant voice and the coppery smell of his mother's blood covering him and contrasting in warmth with the outside air. Where he could finally be in the arms of the one that had bore him and see the face of the one who was his sire. See the ones that had chosen him for their design and for their happiness.

The same blood had brought him Misha.

Would blood bring him Will? Would he change? They were yet so different.

Hannibal squeezes his eyes as he is bit by the night air. The moon is hidden. Like it had hidden itself when he had looked up then. When his mother had been taken from him. And his father had collapsed at his feet. And sister had thrown her arms at him, before she had disappeared forever. Only to remain in the energy of his cells, as he frantically sucked on the marrow of her bones after learning what he had eaten. As if consuming her would bring her to life in him.

He had read about twins absorbing each other in the womb.

He kept her pinkie bones in his wallet.

Just like he would have kept his father's and mother's if he had been able the find any remains of them.

He remembers Peter's design. The dead woman in the dead horse. Wishes he could crawl back in time, in his mother's canal till he reached the womb. Settle and nestle there. Were he was welcomed and desired. Perfect and desired. In his mother's love and father's awe.

Wished baby Misha had been his twin. He would have had five more years with her. Five more years of basking in her existence.

To know pure happiness only five years was cruelly short.

He thinks of Will Graham again. Bloody from Garett Jacob Hobbes' restraint and Abigail Hobbes' pain. Wonders if that is going to be his birth.

Can he birth Will Graham?

Can he bath him in blood until he is like him?

Can he be in this world with a new twin?

Another kindred soul?

Can Will Graham love him ? Accept him ? Feel the adoration and desperation he feels when he looks at his independent eyes and searching thoughts. When he sees his man's hands and practically short cut nails.

.

The first time he smells Will Graham it isn't soft. Nor creamy. But it is warm and alive. It is true and authentic. Unborn but brimming with potential.

That night he had spilled with desperation and filled himself while praying in his language. The one he couldn't speak anymore.

The one reserved for the dead. The one reserved for love.

Mano Mylimasis. Savo Priešas. Mano Pajègus. Savo Gyvybė. Savo Širdgėla. A chant. An affirmation. A vow.

Will had to suffer. Suffer for making him suffer. For bringing back the boy from the past.

Hannibal spills again and falls on his magenta sheets. They smell like a beast.

He smells like salt.

**Author's Note:**

> Mano : mine, savo : of my own, Mylimasis : beloved/sweet, Priešas : ennemy, Pajègus : equal, Gyvybė : life Širdgėla : grief/despair.  
> If I made any mistakes in Lithuanian declension feel free to point it out. Apparently possessive pronouns aren't modified in the genitive case and all I can say is God bless because holy, too many declensions.  
> Mindful criticisim is welcome!


End file.
